September, 2008

You reflect upon my calm blue expanse
Stretching endlessly on beneath the warm sun.
You shudder when my torrents rise beneath the tempest.
You walk along my shore, lulled by the sound of my waves,
Content to watch my tides rise and fall and rise again,
And you think you know me.

Beneath lies a vast domain
Hidden from gaze and veiled from understanding,
A kingdom rich in vibrant color and teaming with life.
My ancient currents run deep and strong,
Impervious to wind and sun,
And the mysteries of my dark depths
Can never be fathomed by any man.


I think that I shall never read
A liar quite like Margaret Mead
Who in the years she spent abroad
Did perpetrate a crazy fraud
When her lie was brought to light
I saw a truly awful sight
The textbooks still contained her name
And not just speaking of her shame
Books are read by college dons
But Satan makes them into pawns


Porcelain People
Delicate and fragile
Their extremities chipped
Cracked and glued together again
And again, and again
They lack the resilience of rubber dolls
But oh for that cool smoothness of their fair skin…


All I want is freedom;
A world with no more nite,
And you always beside me
To hold me and to hide me.
Say you'll share with me one love,
One lifetime;
Say the word and I wil follow yu -
... luv me - thats all I ask of yu


I walk along in silence in the rain
Feeling irritation at the pain
Scratched hands and swollen ankles caught in roots
Slipp'ry mud, skinned knees above my boots
The sudden pour from branches up above
The cold, soaked clothes engenders no great love
'Bout half the time I think that I am lost
I'm fairly sure that I hate Robert Frost
I chose to walk this wooded path today
I could have walked a common city way
Its concrete sidewalks flat with people swarming
Lined with shops within which I'd be warming
Myself should ever rain begin to fall
But I thought "Road Less Traveled" came the call
But anger tires one too much, I sigh
Who cares right now which road I traveled by
I lay my back against a leaning oak
And wait for G-d to end His little soak
Strange how mantra-like the rain can be
As it falls and drums on rock and tree
The ticklish treble trickles forming rivelettes
Could rival any philharmonic string quartet
I deeply breath the cold clean humid air
And as the rain begins to ebb I stare
A beam of sunlight wakes each crystal drop
To shining globes of light that dance and hop
Above me through the branches green and spare
A rainbow crowns the scene across the air
I still hate being wet, my leg still hurts
My irritation comes and goes in spurts
But maybe after all something there is
To Robert Frost and all that poetry biz.


She sits with her feet up
Cozied with her comforter upon the couch
Her purring ball of fluff upon her lap
Outside the window, cars whiz by
An occasional indistinguishable voice is heard
The clock ticks slowly, the refrigerator hums
The fastidious feline slicks its fur rhythmically
Only the phone is still
As she continues to wait

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